Free Falling into the Unknown
by Elixir.BB
Summary: Three years after the Fall and everything is back to normal. Until it isn't. Molly Hooper's past decides to rear its ugly head and she's going to need all the help she can get to stop the man who wants her dead.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer**__: I own nothing. Boo-hoo right? If I did, Sherlock/Molly would be canon. Like hardcore canon. _

_**Pairing**__: Sherlock/Molly, (past)Molly/OC, John/Mary_

_**Summary**__: Three years after the Fall and everything is back to normal. Until it isn't. Molly Hooper's past decides to rear its ugly head and she's going to need all the help she can get to stop the man who wants her dead. _

_**A/N**__: Hopefully you all like it! I'm Canadian so this isn't Brit-picked and I apologize in advance if I offend anyone, I definitely don't mean to. Reviews are greatly appreciated. Just though I'd get this out before my head explodes. There will be quite a few twists and turns and it does have something to do with Moriarty but not in the way you'd expect. Thanks!_

* * *

_Free Falling into the Unknown_

_Chapter 1_

* * *

When Sherlock Holmes asks Molly to help her kill him, she _almost_ says no. Her brain tells her to say no, that this is a _bad idea_, because despite what Sherlock likes to think, he doesn't know everything about her and Molly is fine with that. Sometimes. Not really. (Suffice to say, she's working on it). She wants to tell him that she's sick of being used (so sick) and she wants to tell him that she can't, because if anything, she's terrified that she's going to put him in even more danger.

She takes one look at his face (his beautiful face) and at his eyes so shrouded in misery, fear and vulnerability and she says _yes_.

In the end, Molly Hooper will always say yes to Sherlock Holmes.

(This, of course, terrifies her).

* * *

_A year and a half after The Fall_

He comes to her sometimes. He doesn't often but whenever he can, he sneaks into her flat in some sort of disguise and usually always requiring medical attention. She's long since stopped questioning what happened and just started doing. Her heart still pounds as she looks at him and most of the time she still has to will her hands to stop shaking. She doesn't know if it's because of Sherlock Holmes is in her flat, bleeding and relying on her to keep him alive, or if it's because of something else.

She doesn't respond when his eyes zero in on hers and he says "a man's been here." Four little words that make Molly's heart stop. _Yes_. She thinks, a man has been in her flat. He usually comes. Always checks in on her, always makes sure that she's fine. It's been like this for years.

But she doesn't respond to his inquiry and she pretends to busy herself with his wounds and she definitely ignores the way he glares at her, as if she's committing some sort of act against him. Which she _hasn't_. She refuses to feel guilty. She doesn't feel guilty because, she reminds herself, he doesn't know everything about her. He doesn't know her secrets that she keeps hidden in the corner of her heart, the corner of her mind.

She doesn't know when it starts (she's pretty sure it's after his third visit) but he starts sleeping in her bed. _With her_. The first time it happened, she left him on the sofa, went into her room, changed into an oversized shirt and slipped underneath her covers. Not even five minutes later, she feels the bed dip, hears the rustle of sheets and she turns onto her side to stare at him. He doesn't look at her. Instead, he's on his back, staring the ceiling. Molly nods and then drifts off to sleep.

(Sleep comes easier to her when he's there with her. She won't let herself dwell on that).

This night is no different. He's hurt worse than any other times he's come to her. His eyes are a bit darker, a bit more frantic. His hand grips her wrist and she winces at the sudden pain. He lets go instantly, runs his hand through his hair (it's ginger now, she prefers black) and stands up. He's pacing and muttering things that don't make any sense.

"Sherlock." She says softly. He doesn't answer. "Sherlock." She says it harsher. He stops and she tugs at his hand that gripped her painfully not even minutes before. She pulls him onto the sofa and she fixes him as best as she can.

She starts counting to keep from exploding. When she's done, she throws the bloodied rags and bandages into the rubbish bin. She washes her hands thoroughly and watches as streams of blood (his blood) whirl in her sink and down the drain. She grabs a couple of pills and a glass of cold water. She puts them in front of him and after a few minutes of hesitation, he takes them. She smiles softly at him and grabs him by the hand and leads him into her room.

He sleeps in his boxers and she sleeps in the same oversized shirt.

She doesn't know what wakes her. She knows it's not a sound, her flat is quiet, eerily quiet and she looks to her side to see Sherlock still sleeping. Her head jerks towards the hall and she gets out of bed quietly. She gets down to her knees and grabs the gun strapped to the bottom of her bed. (_"For safety,"_ he said to her, _"use it when I can't be there for you. Don't ever second guess yourself, got it, Mo?"_)

She treads quietly, mindful to sidestep the floorboards that creak. She's holding the gun just like she was taught and slides the safety off. It's a full moon and the moonlight illuminates her main room. There's a figure dressed all in black. Molly raises her gun, finger on the trigger, heart pounding, blood pumping.

"Don't shoot, Mo." He says, his voice deep and tired. "It's just me."

"Jesus, Nate." She whispers harshly. "You couldn't have messaged to let me know? I could have shot you!"

"But you didn't." He tells her. He looks at her and grins, his white teeth gleaming. "So, that's where my shirt went." He takes a step towards her and then stops, his grin sliding off his face as he looks around the room. His gaze snaps towards her and his eyes, his dark brown eyes bore into her. "Get rid of him."

"I can't."

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" He hisses at her. "For fuck's sake Mo, this could kill you and could definitely kill him."

"Everything's fine." She hisses right back. She slides the safety on the gun and places it on the table. "What are you doing here?"

He laughs bitterly. "What I can't come visit you anymore? Is your _Consulting Detective_ taking up all your time? I'm here to check up on you. Make sure you're safe. Remember? I'm keeping my promise."

She shakes her head and ignores the roll her stomach makes. "Everything's been fine for a while."

He shakes his head, "something's wrong."

Her heart plummets. "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head again. "You know you're being watched? I can take care of them."

She's the one to shake her head this time. "It's fine. I know who it is." It's Mycroft. She's met him a few times. Sherlock told her that she should expect to be watched. It's just the way Mycroft is. "Nate-"

"I'm going off the grid." He interrupts her. He always does. She used to get so annoyed when they were younger, but she always put it down to how he was raised. American born and bred, Molly always teased him about his lack of manners. Not that he cared. He would always reply with a smile and some quip about being _too posh_ (his words, never hers.)

"How much off the grid?"

"Almost non-existent until I figure out what's going on. I don't like this. I've been hearing rumblings and some of it has to do with the supposed dead guy in your bed." He leans forward and places a kiss on her forehead. "Be careful. Don't try to reach me. If anything happens, see Glenn."

"Nate." She calls out softly as he makes his way to the window. He pauses and looks back at her and suddenly she doesn't know what to say. She feels heavy. She feels…like she's never going to see him again. So, she says the only thing she knows to say. "Always and forever."

He smiles so brightly and suddenly Molly is taken back to her childhood when she was sixteen and in love for the first time. "Surpassing even eternity." He says just as softly. And then he's gone.

Molly makes her way back into her room and places the gun back into its place and crawls into bed.

"Molly?" Sherlock mumbles.

Molly freezes. "Yeah?"

"Who is he?"

Molly doesn't answer. Instead she curls into a ball on her side and pretends to sleep.

(How does she explain to him who she is? How does she explain what happened to her so long ago? How does she explain Nate and Glenn and everyone else to him? It's easy. She doesn't.)

* * *

He's gone when she wakes up. That's not much of a surprise. He usually is.

It also doesn't surprise her when there's a knock on her door while she's waiting for her toast. She opens the door and smiles sarcastically at Anthea who is typing away on her phone. The taller brunette doesn't say anything; she looks at Molly, shrugs and turns away. Molly sighs, grabs a long sweater, slips into her flats, grabs her keys and locks her door.

She follows Anthea into the car and waits until they come to a stop in front of an abandoned warehouse.

"Who is he?" Mycroft Holmes asks her as soon as she steps out of the car.

"I don't know who you're talking about." She's done this before with him. And it's the same thing every time.

"My brother sought your help and then a man came into your flat. And then for twenty minutes our CCTV's went black. As in gone. I will ask again Miss Hooper, _who is he_?"

"He's of no importance to you." _Just me_. "And it's _Doctor_ Hooper." She adds after a moment of deliberation.

"My brother-"

"Is safe." She interrupts. Maybe she's learning more from Nate every time he sees her. "Well, as safe as Sherlock can be."

There is silence and then Mycroft Holmes looks her in the eyes and Molly almost staggers back. There is something in his eyes, a sort of recognition and maybe even a little bit of shock but there is definite pleasant surprise. He knows. _He bloody knows_.

"He doesn't know, does he?" Mycroft doesn't elaborate on the _who_, but Molly knows who he's talking about.

"No." She says, her voice rough. "He doesn't."

"Well, I suppose, there is always_ something_ he misses."

He says nothing else, but gets into another car and leaves. Molly stands still for a moment before Anthea laughs a little at her mobile. Molly quickly climbs into the car and gets out just as quickly when they reach her flat.

She unlocks the door and walks into the kitchen. "Damn." She says to the empty room.

Her toast is cold.

* * *

_Three years after The Fall_

When Sherlock Holmes comes back to life, it's something akin to Lazarus rising. She rolls her eyes at the media. The Holmes brothers have done well to keep anything and everything from racing back to her. So, she schools her surprise and she walks around St. Barts positively gleeful.

Everyone knows of her feeling for the Consulting Detective. Molly is smart. She is stealthy when she wants to be but she is anything but subtle when it comes to affections of the heart. She wears her heart on her sleeve. Nate always told her to stop. To stop being so damn nice and helpful, but she can't, because that's who she is.

Sherlock and John come into the morgue more often now. DI Lestrade with them. Everything is back to normal. Well, as normal as they can be. Everything feels as it were before The Fall. Before Jim from I.T., before Sherlock would come to her and allow her to touch him, fix him. Before Nate dropped in, dropped a bombshell and then disappeared.

She hasn't heard from Nate since that night. She gets little trinkets in the mail sometimes, things that only Nate would know she'd appreciate. She gets coded notes from Glenn letting her know that Nate is okay. But she never gets anything akin to a message from Nate himself. Not until Sherlock Holmes comes strolling into her flat late one night. He tells her that Moriarty's network is eradicated and Sebastian Moran is dead. "Everything is fine." He says. "Everything is fine." He sleeps in her bed that night and she's studying his sleeping face when her phone glows with an unread message. It's a coded message and Molly has to get out of bed, grab a pen and paper and decode it. _Everything is not fine – N _stares back at her.

She doesn't know how to feel about that, so instead, she crawls back into bed and hesitantly lays her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. He doesn't push her away. But he's still gone the next morning.

* * *

There is a pain that radiates through his body that he's only felt twice before. He was caught unaware. It was stupid of him. It was _so_ stupid of him. He presses his jacket against his gaping wound to try to stop the bleeding. He needs to get to her. He needs to see her. He needs her to fix him.

He goes underground to get to her. He knows how to get to her unnoticed and he navigates the twists and turns until he gets to the door that will lead to the morgue. He pushes it open and stumbles into the hallway. He stops and leans against the wall, breathing in shakily and deeply. He's dripping blood on the floor and he knows it's not sanitary but he can't bring himself to care.

"Hey!" A male voice calls out. He turns his head and a short man with graying hair is in his vision. "I'm a doctor. I'm going to help you. Damn it, how the hell did you get in without being _seen_?"

"Mo." He croaks. "I need Mo."

"Just hang on, keep talking. I need to call-"

Nate shakes his hand and grips the stranger's hand tightly. "Molly." He gasps out. "Molly Hooper. I need Molly."

The man stares at him, eyes wide and then with puts his arms around him and drags him quickly to the double doors. "MOLLY!" The short man yells as he barrels through the door.

Nate would laugh at her reaction if he could, but he can't. Instead, his eyes land on her. She's lost a bit of weight since the last time he saw her. Her hair still in a ponytail. She's wearing a blue shirt that he vaguely remembers getting for her and a skirt. Sherlock Holmes is standing next to her, hand on her back but not quite touching her, just hovering behind her.

She jumps and turns around and then her face pales. She lets out a shriek and pulls him away from the man.

"Nate?" She questions him, her voice is pitching and he recognizes that she's near hysteria. "Oh. God. What happened? Where have you been?" She's shouting orders and the shorter man who dragged him is helping as quickly as possible.

"Molly." Nate winces. "Molly."

"We're going to fix you." She promises.

He has no doubt. Molly always has a habit of fixing people.

"You are not dying. Not today. Not anytime soon. Remember what we promised each other? You die, I die. And I am not ready to die and I am most certainly not ready to let you die. So, I need you to hang on. I need you to-" She chokes back a sob and breathes in deeply.

"Molly." He grabs her hand intertwines their fingers. "Molly…he's back."

He gets one look at her horrified face and then darkness takes him.

* * *

_Confusing, yeah? Probably. A more in-depth history will be provided in the coming chapters that hopefully makes this easier to understand. A look into Molly's past will be explored and all that good stuff. I just needed this off my chest. I'm not British, no matter how much I want to be, so if I get anything wrong, I apologize. I've done as much research as I can, so hopefully I don't offend anyone too badly with this. Anyways, hopefully you all like it. I'm nervous about this for obvious reasons and because holy moly, this fandom has so many amazing stories and I love Sherlock/Molly. She breaks my heart. So, yes. Reviews are greatly appreciated._

_Thanks again and much love, _


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer**__: I own nothing. Boo-hoo right? If I did, Sherlock/Molly would be canon. Like hardcore canon. _

_**Pairing**__: Sherlock/Molly, (past)Molly/OC, John/Mary_

_**Summary**__: Three years after the Fall and everything is back to normal. Until it isn't. Molly Hooper's past decides to rear its ugly head and she's going to need all the help she can get to stop the man who wants her dead. _

_**A/N**__: I love you all. Shoutouts down at the bottom but just know that every single one of you that has read, reviewed, subscribed, alerted, anything/everything are awesome. Hopefully this clears up some confusion. Knowing me, it makes it worse. LOL. Hope you enjoy and like always, reviews are greatly appreciated! I apologize for any mistakes!_

* * *

_Free Falling into the Unknown_

_Chapter 2_

* * *

John Watson almost thinks he's seeing things when he sees a man with an obvious _gaping_ side wound propped up against the wall. Then, his doctor mode kicks in. He tries to help the man. He really does, except for a man that's bleeding to death, he's a bit stubborn…and asking for Molly Hooper. _Molly Hooper_.

Right. He doesn't waste any time, belting out Molly's name. He's certainly never seen this man before and he's almost certain that Molly would have mentioned a tall, blonde, almost God-like man in her life. (He's not being gay, even though that's_ fine_, it's just…the man truly is painfully handsome for being on the brink of death).

Then Molly shrieks and suddenly she's shouting orders and trying to get him to stay awake. She's calling him by name, _Nate_ and she's talking fast and her voice is gaining momentum but John can tell the signs of panic and then she's talking to him like she _knows _him (of course she does, you dolt). Unloading promises made from years ago. He doesn't know what to make of it and by glancing at Sherlock, _he_ doesn't seem to know what to make of it either (which is unsurprisingly surprising).

Then the man, _Nate_, halts Molly mid-tirade and intertwines their fingers. Molly sags and softens and John looks away, he feels like an intruder on a special moment. There is something so careful about the way Nate holds her hand, as if she is the most fragile thing he's ever held. Then he says two little words. "He's back" and promptly passes out.

The horrified look on Molly's face makes John's heart plummet to his stomach.

He doesn't know _who_ it is that's back but he knows it's _not_ a good thing.

* * *

She's never seen him hooked up to so many machines before. She's never seen him hooked up to anything before, really. Even when he would get hurt, he would rather sew himself up than come to her for help. It's not that he doesn't trust her, no, Nate trusts her with his life, it's that he doesn't want his blood on her hands. He's very odd that way. It'd be endearing if she weren't so fucking_ terrified_.

Molly listens as Doctor Sunjay explains his injuries. _Nate will be fine, the stab wound missing all major arteries, which is a miracle in itself_. It's not a miracle. Molly knows it's not a miracle. Instead, it's the workings of one very sick and twisted man who has a vendetta against _Molly_ of all people. Well, realistically, the vendetta was against Molly's _dad_ but he's dead (God rest his soul) and Molly is the only living blood relative and this man is _all about blood_.

She has her head against Nate's forearm, their fingers intertwined (just like all those years ago). He refuses any morphine. He refuses anything that can dull the pain or put him under. "Nate." She tries to argue, "you need rest. You were just _stabbed_."

"I can't." His eyes are wild and wide and he looks so frantic. "Mo, he's _back_."

Molly feels sick to her stomach and suddenly she's transported back to when she was a kid and finding out that her father really wasn't a rig worker but instead part of a government team (not quite MI6) team that was created to infiltrate terrorist organizations. All of which was hush-hush, her father once confessed to her that it didn't matter if they were made, it didn't matter if anything happened to him or _them_, the government wouldn't life a finger to help them. For all intents and purposes, the team her father belonged to didn't _exist_.

So, when she was ten they were sent to Ireland. Molly never questioned why they had to change to their names, she just did was she was told. She was always such a good little girl.

"We'll figure it out."

"You know what you need to do."

Molly lets out a huff and shakes her head. "I'm _no_t running. _We're_ not running. Not anymore."

"He's out for blood." He tells her.

Well, of this, she's absolutely certain. "It's mine he's after. You were just collateral damage and I am so sorry, Nate." She can feel her eyes sting, "I'm so sorry."

"Hey now," he mutters, he shifts and winces but gestures to the empty side of the bed and Molly kicks off her shoes and climbs beside him without another word. "We're in this together, remember?"

She curls into his side and clutches his arm. He pulls her as close as he can and kisses the top of her head. It feels so familiar, to be pressed up against him like this and for the life of her, she can't bring herself to feel ashamed that anyone and everyone can see them.

"Precisely, what is it you _two_ are in together?" A deep baritone cuts through the room and Molly lets her eyes slide shut. She can feel Nate tense up beside her, as she sits up and faces Sherlock Holmes and a suddenly bashful John Watson.

* * *

Before Molly can get a word in edgewise, a short but stocky ginger-haired man all but runs into the room. He blinks at Sherlock and John and then turns to Nate and Molly. "Jesus Christ," he says, letting out a low whistle. His voice is awkward, caught in between an Irish and Boston accent. Molly thinks its funny. "I thought you were being _careful_."

"Kind of hard to be careful when you're caught by surprise." Nate replies with a wry smile.

"You? Caught by surprise?" He grins at Molly and Molly can't help but grin back. Glenn always did know how to make her smile, no matter what the situation. She often felt bad for him, always playing mediator to the two of them. "Well, color me shocked."

Glenn takes the seat Molly vacated and ignores the other two people in the room. "Mo was near hysterics when she called me. Threatened my bollocks she did, if I knew what was happening and didn't say a damn thing. How's your side?"

"Missed everything vital." Molly supplies.

Glenn scoffs, "'course he did, the man's got a fucking _doctorate_ in torture." His face falls and he turns his head to face her, "Shite, Mo, darlin', I didn't mean that." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder at Sherlock and John, "what's the peanut gallery doin' here?"

John bristles at being called the peanut gallery and Sherlock rolls his eyes. "_Molly_ was just going to inform me why a man with a _gaping hole in his side_ suddenly demanded to see her." His clear eyes are trained on her and Molly can start to feel her face flush. "_Molly_ was also going to inform me who is after her and _why_, seeing as how she has apparently been _lying_ to me for as long as we've known each other. Really Molly, I though you better than that."

Oh. That hurts. That _really hurts_. She tries not to let it, she really does, but she fails. Miserably at that. Nate struggles to get up and she knows how frustrating this is to him. She pushes him back down gently and shakes her head at him. Now, is not the time for egos. No, now is the time for her to apparently come clean. She wasn't really going to explain it to them. Most certainly not to Sherlock Holmes, but it seems like he's not giving her a choice. She doesn't know what's going on in his mind. She_ never_ knows what's going on in his mind, so she looks to John for help but he shrugs sheepishly at her.

Glenn gets indignant. "Oi, listen up you right bastard, the _only_ reason why I'm not boxing your bloody face in is because Mo, for some strange reason beyond my intelligence level, is fond of you which is evident in the fact that she harbored you and lied for you _for three fucking years. _The only reason why _he_," he points to Nate, "has not bloody_ killed_ you yet is because Mo has asked him _not to_. So, if you_ ever_, and I do mean _ever_, take that fucking tone with her ever again, we'll make sure _no one ever_ finds your body, yeah?" He turns to Molly, "you don't have to say anything. It's none of their business."

Nate sighs and clears his throat. "Actually, it kind of is. _Kind of_. I use that term very loosely and the only reason why it would be a good idea for Molly to explain is because I've got some explaining of my own to do." There's a pause and Nate takes in a deep breath and looks at Sherlock. "But Glenn is right. If you ever speak to Molly like that again, as soon as I'm better and not risking pulling out my stitches, I will kill you."

John clears his throat and steps forward and Molly recognizes the defensive nature that takes over the smaller man. Molly lets out a sigh and motions for him to stop. "Boys, be nice." Her voice is teasing but there is a weariness that she lets through. Glenn and Nate both look ashamed. "They're just protective of me. Always have been, always will be. The man that is gunning, quite literally after me, is Donn O'Doyle."

Glenn curses softly. Nate sucks in a deep breath. John is looking at her with disbelief. The reaction she's looking for though, is from Sherlock. Sherlock, whose eyes hold a sense of recognition at the name. His eyes snap towards her and she can almost (almost, not quite, _never quite_) hear the questions in his head. "Molly," he says through gritted teeth and she knows, just knows, that he's struggling not to lash out, "explain to me-_us_-" he amends after John elbows him, "why, arguably the most dangerous man in the _United Kingdom _is after _you_."

"Because my father took down his entire network. Or at least, we thought he did."

* * *

"When I was younger, I thought my dad worked on a rig. At least, that's what I was told. Mum obviously knew differently, she was always so worried when he was gone for an extended amount of time. I should have been tipped off by plenty of things, you know? My mum was quite a fighter, suppose she had to be in case someone found out 'bout us. Then there were secret doors and rooms, most of which I wasn't ever allowed in. I was an inquisitive child, smarter than any other child my age. We lived in London until I was ten. Then we moved to Ireland. It was during that move my dad told me what he really was."

"A spy?" John interrupts. "Like MI6? _James Bond_, that sort of stuff? Bloody hell, was he like _Mycroft_?"

"Don't be foolish John." Sherlock snaps.

Glenn rolls his eyes and Nate absently runs his fingers across the palm of her hand, making shapes over her skin. Molly shivers just a little, but it's enough for Sherlock to see and his gaze zeroes in on it. His fists clench and Molly can't even dissect why when Nate squeezes her hand to continue.

"Not quite." She says, "he told me that he was part of a team that was created to infiltrate terrorist organizations. Donn O'Doyle and his organization were _true IRA_. I overheard my dad tell mum about it but everything seemed so over my head. He told me should anything happen to him, should he be found out, should anything happen to mum and me, the government wouldn't do anything. They couldn't. At least not really. The team my dad belonged to essentially didn't exist. Everything was fine. Dad was…he was charming. So very charming and he managed to gain trust and access and amassed a plethora of evident against O'Doyle, but then…" She trails off and takes a shaky breath.

"I was thirteen and I had just come back from school. Mum was making dinner when she suddenly stopped and told me to go into the basement, hide under the floorboards and not come out until everything was silent. I didn't question it but I was at the top of the stairs when, the front door crashed open. Mum put up a fight, `course she did, but O'Doyle…he paid us a personal visit. I was strapped to the chair for hours and he…he _tortured_ mum. Made me watch. Told me, I'd be next." She can still hear her mother's screams, her mother railed against him. Her mother was strong, her mother was a warrior. Molly…Molly's meek; nowhere near as strong as her mother was.

"Then suddenly men started dropping dead, single shots to the head and dad came barreling in. He shot O'Doyle, not to kill him, just to get him away from us, from mum. Mum…lost so much blood by that point, there was no…we couldn't help her. She said to leave, to go, to never look back and that she'd be okay. We could hear the sirens. I was wailing. Crying so hard and dad, dad was _shattered_, absolutely _wrecked_. We left before the _Garda_ came. Hid out in warehouses. Dad's contacts helped us out. Smuggled us out of Ireland. Out of the United Kingdom. Dad's best friend lived in Oahu, Hawaii. We went there. He welcomed us with open arms. Had a son himself, just a couple years older than me." She snuck a glance at Nate and he had a small smile on his face.

"We had heard that O'Doyle was sent to a North Korean prison and dad's evidence was enough to dismantle the organization. A handful of them cooperated and pleaded against O'Doyle and everything was fine. Everything was okay. We lived in Oahu until I was eighteen. We took my grandmother's maiden name, Hooper, and we decided that it was safe to return to London when I was eighteen for my education."

"And now he's back." Glenn finishes.

Nate cleared his throat. "Molly's dad told me what happened and made me promise to look after her. My own dad was a Navy SEAL, I knew how it went. They'd been friends for a long time, even though neither told us how they knew each other, so it was easy for me to take care of her. We lived together long enough. I joined the Navy when I was eighteen and we've been in contact ever since. I'll always drop by during leaves and always check in on her. And like Molly said, everything was fine. But then…three years ago, I started hearing things. People mysteriously dying. Never enough to be suspicious but the names sounded so familiar. The night I came to you," he says this to Molly, "that's when I figured it out. The people who pled against O'Doyle were dying. One by one. I did some digging and found out that a year and half earlier, O'Doyle escaped from prison. I've been tracking him ever since. Bastard is sneaky though."

Glenn clears his throat and scratches his head. "That's not it, Mo. Turns out, O'Doyle had a nephew. His sister's son. A freakishly brilliant and really fucking creepy guy. When I found out who it was I just about pissed my pants. He was so close. _So fucking close_."

"His nephew knew about you." Nate said. "Before O'Doyle stabbed me, he said…well, he said he had eyes on you. That he always had eyes on you. That he'd never forgotten about you. But he couldn't get close, not with you always being around the _Consulting Detective _and that Detective guy, so he enlisted the help of his already unstable nephew."

There is something heavy in her chest, something churning in her stomach and Molly knows, she just _fucking knows_ the name before he even says it. She lifts her head and looks at Sherlock who closes his eyes for a brief second and for once (_once_) they both come to the same conclusion at the same time.

"James Moriarty – _Jim from I.T._ – was his nephew."

Molly doesn't know what she did in a past life, but this one right now, really seems to fucking hate her.

* * *

_Holy cow. You guys are awesome. I'm sort of afraid to post this because I don't want to disappoint any of you. I've done as much research into IRA as I could, but I'm no expert on it and Molly was so young that she was never really interested in it, so I'm hoping that this makes a little more sense, even though it probably still is confusing. There will definitely be more back story to Nate, Molly and Glenn. More Sherlock/Molly interaction. Mycroft of course comes in. Hopefully, you guys enjoyed this! I promise though, things will be answered in due time. Hopefully. Lol._

**HUGE THANKS**_: __**FangFan, justafan, Guest, susieqsis, CreamCrop, LadyGracelyn, Zora Arian, Rocking the Redhead, Samantha, Potix, doctorspiratesandsherlockohm y, coloradoandcolorado1 and Lono **if I've forgotten anyone I am so sorry!__. You guys are awesome and you rock my socks. No, seriously you do. I love you all. Also, _**HUGE THANKS**_ to every who has subscribed and alerted and read, you make my heart swell. _

_Thanks again and much love!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer**__: I own nothing. Boo-hoo right? If I did, Sherlock/Molly would be canon. Like hardcore canon. _

_**Pairing**__: Sherlock/Molly, (past)Molly/OC, John/Mary_

_**Summary**__: Three years after the Fall and everything is back to normal. Until it isn't. Molly Hooper's past decides to rear its ugly head and she's going to need all the help she can get to stop the man who wants her dead. _

_**Authors Note at the bottom along with shoutouts! Love you all. You're amazing. I apologize for any mistakes!**_

* * *

_Free Falling into the Unknown_

_Chapter 3_

* * *

Despite the fact that Nate is in the hospital, Molly still has work to do. She detaches herself from his side reluctantly and tells him that she'll be up to visit as often as she can. Sherlock and John have left (to God knows where, she didn't bother asking, even though she wanted to) and left Glenn, Nate and herself in the hospital room. Glenn grinned and looked at the two of them. "Just like the old days, yeah?"

They spent some time talking, laughing and reminiscing at the crazy antics of Molly, Nate and when they became a little older, Glenn. Then, Molly looked at the clock and realized that real life could not wait. Nate didn't mind (of course he didn't, if anything, he encouraged her to work, he encouraged her through everything) and Glenn promised that he'd keep him company.

With a kiss on the forehead, Molly walked out of the room and into the hall.

"Mo." Glenn called out before she could disappear to the morgue. "Listen…I've had the team…clean up the blood and everything, alright?"

"Shouldn't we involve the police?"

Glenn scoffed, "yeah, `cuz that worked out so fucking spiffing the first time. It was Nate's idea but I overheard Holmes say that he'd contact his DI or whatever. Besides, Nate and I, we've got our people looking after you. We're going to find him and settle this, no worries."

He gives her a smile and Molly knows that he's trying to make it sincere and genuine but she also knows that he failed. Miserably. They _know_ Donn O'Doyle. They know what he's like. They know his connections. The fact that Moriarty was part of his family and she allowed him to get so close to her, to Sherlock, to_ everyone_, still makes her sick to her stomach.

She pushes down the bile that is itching to work its way up and gives him a small smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah, of course. We'll settle this."

(Except she knows better than most, when Donn O'Doyle wants something settled, it's settled in blood, torture and death.)

* * *

She sees more janitorial staff outside the morgue but Molly knows better than that. Their eyes flitter around, taking everything in, studying everything that is wheeled in, wheeled out and their ears are attuned to every hum the building makes and every conversation that they purposely overhear.

They're Nate and Glenn's men and women. She knows this because they give her a small (almost non-existent) nod when they see her. She feels safer, somewhat. She knows it won't last for long.

She's in the lab, taking up one of the benches with her paperwork that she keeps forgetting to do (God, she hates the bloody paperwork), when Sherlock comes sweeping in. John is nowhere to be seen. She frowns. "Where's John?"

He rolls his eyes, "He's chatting up some Nurse. Don't know why, she's recently just come out of a relationship and hardly looking to get into another one."

"Maybe she just wants to be friends with him."

He gives her a reproachful look.

She sighs and goes back to her paperwork, the words are bleeding together and she's not entirely sure what she's staring at, when she sees in her peripheral vision Sherlock settle into his favorite seat in front of his favorite microscope. (He has favorites; he really truly is a person of habit, even if he vehemently denies it.)

And then she thinks about Moriarty and O'Doyle and how none of this would have happened if her father didn't move them to Ireland when she was ten. Or if, she decided to stay in America and get her education there. But then, she wouldn't have met Sherlock and for all the heartache, headache and tears that he's been directly responsible for, Molly doesn't regret a single moment of knowing him.

"I'm sorry." She tells him quietly. At his look, she hurries to explain. "Moriarty…I should have known better. I should have…known better." She finishes lamely. What she should have done was trust her instinct. Or at the very least, tried to_ listen_ to her instinct. She never does. No matter how many times her dad and Nate told her to, she always (_always_) chooses to trust people. She always (_always_) tries to see the best in people.

"Moriarty," Sherlock says slowly, "was after me long before he was after you. You weren't even supposed to be part of his plan. In fact, if it weren't for his uncle, I know he would have never wanted anything to do with you."

She doesn't know how to take that, so she doesn't. She nods and goes back to her paperwork.

"He is the one, no doubt?" He says again, without looking up from his microscope.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Nate." He spits out the name and Molly can see his fist tighten against the knob, "when I came to you that night and I asked you who the man that was in your apartment was, I'm _sure_ you remember that night, I'm sure you remember _every night_ with me in your bed, he was the man wasn't he? You, of course, didn't dignify me with an answer and instead pretended to sleep but he was the one, wasn't he?"

Molly is staring dumbly at him, a knot in the pit of her stomach.

"Oh, come now, Molly, stop staring at me so. One of the most dangerous men is out for your blood and you can't even form a response. It's a simple question you know, but then people are just so simple themselves. Your friend, Glenn, he's not hard to figure out at all. Irish accent with a hint of Eastern American, Boston, if I'm correct, which I am. Father died when he was young, shot to death, by one of O'Doyle's men. His mother was American by birth and she took him to Boston after that, joined the Navy, which is where he met Nate and by default, you. You became a…what does John call it, oh yes, _ragtag team._ They'd visit you in London. He's also boxer but has recently branched into UFC, vile sport, none of the class, boxing has. He's also loyal. Extremely loyal to both you and Nate, which was evident when he threatened me."

She can feel her heart pounding and all she can do is sit there and say nothing. She vaguely hears the door open and can almost make out John's figure.

"Your boy, _Nate_. He proved a challenge, for a _second_."

"Sherlock." John (so, it is John, glad she's not so far gone) warns. "Drop it."

"For a moment and I do mean a _moment_, I wondered why on earth someone would visit _you_ before seeking help after he was stabbed and then I realized, his entire life revolves around you. Since you entered into it when you were thirteen. You lived with him, your father and his father until you were eighteen. He's protected you not because your father asked him to but because he would have done so anyways. He has a bit of hero mentality doesn't he? Then again, most American men do. You were broken when you came to him and he _fixed _you, didn't he?" His blue eyes are furious when they meet hers. "He's spent his entire military career ensuring your safety, even when halfway across the world. He was heartbroken when you left, which is why he always came to visit you and he stayed with you. _You_ _let him stay with you_."

"Sherlock," John's voice is hard, "enough. You stop this, _right now_."

It's like _that_ Christmas all over again. Now, all she needs is a throaty moan text message and Molly will be able to relive the most humiliating night of her life.

"And you. You were so weak that you liked him protecting you. You liked him watching out for you because it provided you safety that your father obviously could not accomplish-" (_"SHERLOCK!"_ John shouts, he's ignored) "you also enjoyed him sleeping next to you. Which obviously means you enjoyed sleeping _with_ him. He was your first of course, and for quite some time, your only. Your father first taught you how to use a gun that you keep strapped underneath your mattress, but then Nate took over and he taught you everything he was taught, for the days that he _can't_ be there to protect you."

Molly barely registers footsteps outside the lab; all she can do is stare at him in horror. She wants the ground to open up and swallow her whole. She wants him to _stop_. _It's not like Christmas_, she thinks wildly, _it's worse_. It's _ten times worse_ and she would most gladly welcome the throaty moan at this moment.

"You hate goodbyes. _I _know this from the three years _I_ spent with you. You never once said goodbye. Is it too final? Of course it is, for your sentimentality-induced mind. So you and Nate say _forever and always_. He was writing that on your palm when we were in the hospital room when you were explaining everything to _me_. He also has it within a tattoo on his chest, near his heart in Latin, _forever and always, surpassing even eternity_. Such _sentiment_ from the _two of you_. You're his _heart_. You've stopped _fucking_ each other when you met me, nearly what, _six_ years ago?"

He's hateful. He's so hateful. What did she ever see in him again?

John looks weary and he covers his hand over his face. "Sherlock," he sounds resigned and so very disappointed. "Stop it. Enough. Molly doesn't deserve this."

"Go." Molly croaks. She horrified that it doesn't come out as strong as she wants it to. "Just go. O'Doyle isn't after you. He's…this has nothing to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me!" Sherlock hisses at her. He's looking at her intensely and Molly can feel the tears well up in her eyes.

"We don't need your help. We'll handle it…just go." She looks at John desperately. "Please. _Please_…John, just take him and go. I don't…I can't…not anymore._ Please_." And _oh God_, she's going to lose it. She's going to start crying; she can_ feel_ it bubbling up inside of her.

"Sherlock." John says softly but strictly. "Let's go."

Sherlock doesn't move but instead stays rooted to his spot, staring at Molly.

There's the cocking of the gun and Molly whirls around and sees Nate, leaning against Glenn for support but his arm is outstretched with a gun pointing directly at Sherlock. "She said, _leave_. I'm sure we warned you. Didn't we warn him, Glenn?"

Glenn's grin is feral, "oh, yeah. We definitely warned him. Free game, eh?"

Nate's body is tense and he's fuming with restrained anger. "I'm _three fucking seconds_ away from _blowing your goddamn head off_ and at this point, I don't even think Doctor Watson will argue with me."

Molly's body is working before she knows what she's doing. She steps in front of Nate and puts her hand on the gun. "Don't. Please. You should be resting."

Nate's eyes are burning with hatred. "He does this to you every time. _Always_. I've had enough. You don't need his shit on top of what's already happening."

"Leave it." Molly says softly. "How did you two even…"

Glenn nods his head outside. "Janitors ain't really janitors. One of `em phoned me, heard yelling. Nate was furious." He looks over Molly's shoulder at the two other men. "You should do what she says and leave or I'm going to let Nate shoot you and then I'm going to make good on my promise and box your fucking face in."

Molly doesn't look back to see John forcefully grab Sherlock by his arm and yank him out of the lab.

(It takes every ounce of her willpower to not _completely_ lose it as soon as Sherlock leaves.)

* * *

"Of all the asinine, stupid, _disgusting_ things you've done- and trust me Sherlock- you've done _a lot_, this is by far the worst. You've devastated her. Do you understand that? You've torn apart her every secret, you've basically desecrated the only people who have kept her alive and safe and for what? To insert your _superiority_?"

Sherlock ignores John's tirade as he inhales a cigarette. It's his third one. It seems that every time Molly is somehow involved, he starts smoking again. Every night after he'd sleep in her bed, he'd smoke. Every time she'd patch him up, he'd smoke. Every time, she'd _touch_ him, he'd smoke.

All he can see is her face. Her heartbroken and devastated face. Her pale face and her eyes wide with disbelief and hurt. After everything she's done for him and he repays her with _this_.

He can honestly say he didn't set out to purposely hurt her. But he felt something so fierce explode in his veins when he saw Nate touch her palm and indent the words _forever and always_, so intimate, so permanent, into her skin. And then he spotted the tattoo across his chest and everything reeked of _sentiment_. Everything _about_ Molly and Nate reeks of _sentiment_.

He was aware she'd had boyfriends before, he was aware of the men she would sleep with but there was something about this American that infuriated him. The way, he always kept coming back to her and the way she welcomed him with open arms. He wondered if Nate studied her as she slept. He wondered if Nate knew her facial expressions as dreams seeped into her mind. The thought of Nate putting his hands on her body and holding her close made him clench his fists and jaw_. Protective and secure Nate_.

He wants to hit something. More precisely, he wants to hit _Nate_. _And_ Glenn. The Irishman is grating on his last nerve.

_He does this to you every time. Always_. Nate said to her. The words so eerily familiar and he can picture it. _That _Christmas when he tore her to ribbons and left her shattered. She said something similar. He wasn't _wrong_. Sherlock _knew_ he wasn't wrong. She may not have known it then, but _he_ did. She was dressing up for a man, he has no doubts now that it was for him at first, but when she went back to her flat that night, did she see him? Did he climb through her window as a Christmas _surprise_? Did he hold her as she sobbed out the story to him? Did he unzip that dress and make her _forget_ all about _Sherlock Holmes_.

The thought makes his blood boil.

Molly Hooper is a distraction. She is an infection seeping into his blood and making a home there. In his veins, poisoning his body from the inside out. (And God _help_ him, he wants to drown in her.)

John is still talking but Sherlock is still not paying attention. Instead he gets out his phone and messages Mycroft. It's the least he can do until he gets more information.

He will help Molly. Not out of sentiment (which he thoroughly does _not_ believe in). Not out of some misplaced gratitude (it was never misplaced) but because he needs to.

He, Sherlock Holmes, will be the one who saves Molly Hooper. Because for as many times as he's broken her,_ he_ still wants to _fix_ her.

(He owes her that much.)

(He also thinks that if Nate were _half _the man he proclaims he is, then he would have shot Sherlock the first chance he got. At least…that's what Sherlock would have done.)

* * *

_Cowers from tomatoes. So, I've rewritten this chapter nearly three times and settled with this. I'm nowhere near as brilliants as Moftiss so I really hope I at least did some justice. I also hope that I haven't turned anyone off of the story. Just a little heads up, there's only going to be three-maybe four-more chapters after this one, so expect shit to hit the fan pretty soon. Also I apologize if Sherlock seems OOC, I tried my best but I have a feeling I failed._

_Also, it came to my attention that there are some similarities between this story and a storyline in Criminal Minds. I won't lie, I watched Criminal Minds up until season five. (My last episode was 100 and I bawled like a little baby and never watched it again), that being said, any and all similarities are completely and utterly coincidental. The story line, I was told was in either season 6 or 7 and I had stopped watching it by then. I thoroughly apologize for that. I wasn't aware and I just wanted to get that out there that its completely coincidental. Criminal Minds is a brilliant show and my props go to its writers/creators (but lets be honest…it's not as great as Sherlock, lol). So yeah, just wanted to let everyone know. _

_ONTO MY MOST AMAZING REVIEWERS: __**thestarlitrose, susieqsis, varjaks, Guest, timelordsdaleksandsherlockoh my, Lono, Rocking the Redhead, ARoseWithThorns, magicstrikes, CreamCrop, FangFan, coloradoandcolorado1, Nocturnias, Anasthesia93**__ and __**lililoop. **__I love you all, you're awesome and I hope you've enjoyed this chapter! MUCH LOVE to the readers/subscribers/alerters, you guys are awesome and I love you. If I missed anyone I apologize greatly!_

_Thanks again and much love!_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer**__: I own nothing. Boo-hoo right? If I did, Sherlock/Molly would be canon. Like hardcore canon. _

_**Pairing**__: Sherlock/Molly, (past)Molly/OC, John/Mary_

_**Summary**__: Three years after the Fall and everything is back to normal. Until it isn't. Molly Hooper's past decides to rear its ugly head and she's going to need all the help she can get to stop the man who wants her dead. _

_**Authors Note at the bottom along with shoutouts! Love you all. You're amazing. I apologize for any mistakes!**_

* * *

_Free Falling into the Unknown_

_Chapter 4_

* * *

The first time Nate Johnson sees Molly Hooper, she's thirteen years old and _broken_. Her eyes are haunted and she doesn't say much. She stays cooped up in the spare bedroom and sometimes even her father can't coax her out of it. Nate doesn't know a lot of the details, just that Frank Hooper is his dad's best friend and he was part of a secret British organization that apparently, if Molly is anything to go by, _completely _fucked them over.

So, when Frank pulls him aside one day (exactly fourteen days, nine hours and thirty-six minutes after they move in) and tells him quietly, with a cup of tea, about what happened and practically pleads with him to look out for Molly, Nate doesn't hesitate to say _yes_. There's something about the brown haired, doe-eyed girl that Nate is ultimately sure will bring him to his knees. He tries to talk to her. He tries to get her to go to the beach. During the first few months, she only talks to him a handful of times and most of them along the lines of "leave me alone please."

Then one day, it changes.

It's late at night and the house is quiet and Nate can't sleep. He almost gives up and plans to sneak to the beach for a swim but then he hears noises. Little whimpering noises that claw at his gut. He's fifteen and already a decent fighter (his father demands nothing less.) Then he realizes the little whimpering noises that claw at his gut are coming from Molly's _room_. He doesn't hesitate to go in (Nate will find that he'll never hesitate when it comes to Molly) and finds her curled into a ball and crying. Or trying _not_ to cry. She has her hands on top of her mouth trying to muffle the sobs but Nate heard them. (Nate will always hear Molly.)

"Molly?" He asks quietly, gently shutting her door and making his way into the darkened room. "Is everything okay?" _Well, that was a stupid question. Of course it's not okay. She's crying, you moron._

She shakes her head but stays on her side and doesn't answer him.

He wants to hug her. He wants to comfort her. Most of all, he wants to _fix_ her. He has a twisted need to help the helpless. He knows however, that she probably wouldn't appreciate a practical stranger climbing into bed with her and holding her, so he walks over the side where she's curled up and slides onto the floor, his back braced against the bed. "I'm here." He says. "I'm here and I won't leave you. I'll…I'll protect you. You're told me what happened and I promise that as long as I'm alive he won't ever hurt you. I can help you. Please Molly, _please_ let me help you."

She says nothing just hiccups through her sobs and he sighs and settles himself in for a long night on the floor. He won't leave her. Not like this. Not ever, really, because there's something about Molly Hooper that connects her to him. Maybe it's the fact that she's taken refuge in his house, or maybe it's because she's alone, but Nate knows it's deeper than that.

She sniffles and hesitantly reaches out her hand. He grabs it and gives it a squeeze. She squeezes back, interlaces their fingers and doesn't let go.

(_This_ is the moment that will change the both of them. _This_ is the moment where they'll come to depend on each other for so much, it will sometimes, literally take his breath away.)

* * *

From that day on, they're inseparable. He coaxes her out of her shell bit by bit and isn't surprised to find that she's still shy around people, but not around him. Never around Nate. They fight, of course they do. They're teenagers, it's ingrained in them to fight. He keeps to his word and protects her. At school, she gets teased sometimes and it doesn't bother her as much as it bothers _him_. She has an accent and she's incredibly smart, if not a little bit morbid, but that's what he likes about her. She's different.

He joins the Navy when he's eighteen and it's not a surprise to anyone. Navy is in his blood; he's been groomed for this since he was kid. He always knew he would go into it. Which is why he doesn't know why it hurts when he realizes that he'll have to leave Molly.

Molly for her part sits on his bed quietly and watches while he packs. He's doesn't leave for a couple of days but he's always been an early packer. She's in the middle of his bed (her favorite spot) and sitting with her legs tucked underneath her. They've been in this position before. She's sixteen and he's eighteen and they've stolen kisses in his room. In her room. She's hesitant and shy and so utterly _Molly_. He finds it unbelievable cute.

Today though, today is _different_. Their fathers aren't in the house and it's the middle of the day, the sun shining brilliantly. She tugs at his hand and he looks at her. She biting her lip and she nods lightly. He gulps (it's not like he hasn't done this before but _she's _Molly and _he's_ Nate and it seems _wrong_ on some sort of level) but then she interlaces their fingers and suddenly it feels _right_.

(It hurts for her and she lets a few tears slip down her cheeks. He kisses them away. He kisses her pain away until they're both moving and soaring and fucking _flying_. She's exhilarating. He loves her. He tries to deny it. He's been_ trying_ to deny it but not anymore.)

(She hates goodbyes so they don't say it. Instead, they settle on _forever and always, surpassing even eternity _because Molly is in his head. She's in his blood. She's in his heart. Forever. _Always_.)

God, he's so_ fucked_.

* * *

He meets Glenn on his first day at Camp. They bond instantly and Nate knows that Glenn would love Molly because once someone gets past her shy exterior; they'll find that she's funny and so fucking smart. He tells Glenn about her and Glenn shakes his head and says he's lucky he's got such a great girlfriend.

(Nate doesn't bother correcting him.)

When he goes home, they fall into the same pattern, exchanging _I've missed you, I love you,_ and_ oh God, please_ until it all feels like its coming from the same person. It always breaks him just a little more to leave her.

She's eighteen and he's back home when she tells him that she and her father are moving back to London. His heart stops. He doesn't tell her _no_. Doesn't tell her _she can't go_. He'd never do that to her. So, instead he just shrugs and smiles at her, "I've always wanted to see _Big Ben_."

She laughs and tackles him and they fall into the same pattern. (And if he's a little bit more desperate, a little bit more attentive, well, neither of them mentions it.)

* * *

He's right. Glenn and Molly get along well. So well that they sometimes gang up on him. They're a little team, the three of them. ("The Three Musketeers," "The Three Amigos," "The Three Blind Mice!"…"No, Glenn, just…no.")

He'll always see her after a mission, he and Glenn are Navy SEALs by now and they're both outrageously proud of it, sometimes Glenn will come, sometimes he won't. He and Glenn go to her graduation though. She's done and he's so fucking proud of her. She's a pathologist and got a job before she even finished her studies, not many can boast that, she doesn't but Nate does (Glenn does too.)

(Her father is sick and isn't able to attend the ceremony but Nate tapes it all for him.)

When her father does die, he leaves, with permission, in the dead of the night and flies to London. He's there for the funeral. He's there to watch her fall apart and he's there to put her back together. They've gotten through everything else, they can get through this.

(He's known about O'Doyle since he was fifteen and with her losing her father, he promises himself that he'll be around more often. It doesn't matter if the bastard is rotting in prison, he won't ever, _ever_ get to Molly.)

* * *

Molly meets men. They come and go and Nate has never been bothered by them. He's met women and they come and go and she's never been bothered by them either because they _keep going back to each other_.

Then Molly meets _Sherlock Holmes_.

And Nate loses a game he didn't even know he was playing.

(He hates Sherlock on principle.)

* * *

He surprises her one Christmas. She's wearing an amazing dress that shows off all the curves he knows she has. He hasn't touched her in any way in three years and he's okay with it, he finds that he craves _Molly_ more than he craves her_ body _(it doesn't make any sense, Glenn constantly tells him it doesn't make any sense, but it makes sense to him). Then she sees him and bursts into tears, sobbing out the entire story and yeah, he was right, he _hates_ Sherlock.

He cracks that night as he unzips her dress and worships her body. For those blissful hours, she's_ his_ and he's _hers_ and _Sherlock fucking Holmes doesn't exist._

Then he finds out that O'Doyle escaped prison and is hell-bent on revenge. Then Glenn finds out Moriarty is O'Doyle's nephew and Molly is in danger. Then he finds out the Consulting Detective is dead (but not really). Then he finds out that the not-so-dead Consulting Detective is _sleeping_ _in Molly's bed_.

Then he comes face-to-face with O'Doyle and gets stabbed.

(God, he's so_ fucked_.)

* * *

Sherlock makes Molly cry. Seeing Molly cry is the worst thing in the world for Nate. Nate really _really _wanted to shoot Sherlock but Molly got in the way, so he didn't. He wishes he did. _Especially now_.

Because the Consulting Detective is staring at him in the face and all Nate wants to do is blow his head off. He's not even that pissed that Molly has fallen _out_ of love with him and _in_ love with Sherlock, it hurts, _of course_ it does, but he always saw this day coming, he's just pissed that she's decided to give her heart to a complete and utter _fucking douche bag_.

Glenn sighs and Molly fidgets. John Watson is looking at everyone but the people in the room and Mycroft Holmes is leaning against an umbrella. It's not even _raining_. _Must be a British thing then_.

"You need my help." Sherlock says, his voice deep, "don't deny it. I'm the best."

"Modest too." Glenn spits out spitefully.

Sherlock blinks. "Why would I be modest? It's the truth."

"What my brother means to say," Mycroft cuts in, his voice softer than his brother's, "is that it's imperative we catch Mr. O'Doyle before anyone else ends up dead."

Glenn clenches his fists (he knows all about Glenn's history with O'Doyle too and Nate wants to kill him for making his two best friends miserable) and Molly closes her eyes, as if trying to shield herself from the pain.

"Since he's after Molly," Sherlock cuts in, "I'll stay with her-"

Nate's up before he knows it, pinning Sherlock to the wall, forearm against his throat. "_Like hell you will_." He snarls and he sees Glenn get up too. "You stay the fuck _away _from her. You wanna help, fine, help. I don't care how, I don't care when or anything like that, but Molly's protection is between Glenn and me. No one else."

"You are allowing sentiment to cloud-" Sherlock's eyes are fierce with a challenge and Nate really _really_ wants to shoot him.

"It's fine." Molly interrupts. "Glenn and Nate, they know what they're doing. I'll be safe with them. You can…you can come to lab…check in…whatever you see fit, but Nate and Glenn are staying with me. You don't…you don't have to bother yourself with me. I know you're only doing this because Mycroft's asked you and because O'Doyle really does need to go back to prison but…I'll be fine."

Nate is the only one who sees it because he's the only one in Sherlock's face but his bright blue eyes fall with an emotion and desperation that Nate is_ all_ too familiar with. Sherlock looks at Molly with a little bit of disbelief and an indefinite amount of hurt before he slams his walls back up again and shrugs Nate's hands off of him. "As you wish. Leave. Now. _All of you_."

Nate and Glenn usher Molly out but not before they hear the telltale music of a violin. It's haunting, sad, desperate and utterly and completely _Sherlock Holmes_.

* * *

It's been a week since the impromptu meeting at 221b Baker Street. Either Glenn or Nate are with Molly in the lab or in morgue but they're both with her at night. Unless Glenn has a date.

Nothing happens. There are no updates and Sherlock is getting agitated and cranky and he's being an even bigger asshole than Nate originally thought he was.

Today though…today is _different_. He doesn't know why. Doesn't know how but today is..._different_. It's in the air; it's almost electric, clinging to his every nerve. He doesn't say anything, doesn't want to frighten Molly who is having trouble sleeping and Nate finds himself sitting on the floor, clutching her hand more than once.

They're in the morgue today, the sun is starting to go down and Molly is sewing up a dead woman's body (heart-attack). "Molly…why?..." how can he put this lightly? "Why _Sherlock Holmes_?"

She pauses and looks up at him. She's silent as she studies him and then her eyes take on a sad look and he knows that underneath her mask, she's smiling sadly at him. "Because he's brilliant and even though he doesn't show it, he _does_ care. He's complex and hard to understand but he's…he's _Sherlock_."

He's_ Sherlock_ and she's _Molly_ and she helped him when no one else could. The fact of the matter is that Sherlock _chose_ her.

"You know I love you." She says suddenly. "No one, _nothing_ is ever going to change that. You've been there for me and you've done _everything_ for me. It doesn't matter who comes or who goes, I love you and nothing will _ever_ change that. Besides, you die, I die, remember?" God, he _does_ remember. Promises made late at night, whispering and holding each other tightly from the comedown of sweet euphoria. (They're morbid at heart, the both of them.)

Then he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Good, because I love you too." (He's never stopped; he just needs to learn to _let go_.)

Her phone rings. "Hello? Oh, Doctor MacKenzie! Yes…yes…not with me no, I took it home to go over it…No, I've never heard of him…interesting, well, yes, I suppose I could…oh, it's no problem, it's just at my flat. I'll run over and get it…won't be but thirty minutes. Yes…no, it's no problem. See you soon." She hangs up and looks at him. "I've got to run to my flat and get a report."

His phone chimes and he looks at it, gut suddenly churning. "It's Holmes. Says he's got news about O'Doyle."

"Go." She says. "I'll take one of _janitors_ with me."

"Call Glenn."

"He's probably meeting you there, _remember_? I'll take _three_ of them if that will make you feel better."

"It won't. I'll go with you and then we can-"

"Nate. It's been a week and nothing's happened. I'll take three of your very expertly trained people. It's a half hour, round trip. I'll be fine. Let's just get him, yeah?"

He's hesitating but Molly is ushering him out the door and Nate points to three of his men. "Eyes vigilant and do_ not_ let anyone close to her." He orders. He looks at Molly, the pain intensifying in his chest and gut. "I love you Mo."

"Forever and always." She promises.

"Surpassing even eternity."

Everything has been fine. It's been a week.

But today…today…is _different_.

* * *

He makes it into 221b and hears commotion before he sees anything.

"I assure you I did not send a message." He hears Sherlock's haughty voice.

"Listen, you prick," Glenn snaps, "_I_ got a message from Nate telling _me_ that _you_ sent _him_ a message saying that _you_ had information. So, stop being such a fucking asshole and tell me what you've got."

"Nate." John sighs in relief as soon as he spots him, "please tell them that Sherlock did _not _send you a message."

"You did." Nate answers slowly, dread building in her _entire_ body. _Oh God_. "You sent me a message saying you had information about O'Doyle." He turns and looks at Glenn, "but_ I_ didn't send _you_ a message."

It takes a second; just a _second_ and he can see that Sherlock comes to the same conclusion at the same time Nate does.

Then Nate's stomach does a twist and turn and he feels like he's going to be _sick_. "Molly."

Then he _runs_.

* * *

_Bit of a long chapter but Nate really wanted a chapter dedicated to him. So, here it is. LOL. A little bit of back story between Nate and Molly and Nate, Nate, Nate, you naughty naughty boy, you always told Molly to listen to her instincts, why not listen to yours? Tsk-tsk. Next chapter we meet O'Doyle, the little psychopath he is and it yes, there will be quite the confrontation between Sherlock and Nate in the next chapter. Honestly, did you expect anything less from the two of them?_

_I want to give a **HUGE SHOUTOUT TO MY AWESOME REVIEWERS**: **MorbidbyDefault, personofnoconcern3000, Rocking the Redhead, Guest, susieqsis, coloradoandcolorado1, Lono, Adi Who is Also Mou, magicstrikes** and **Zora Arian**. If I missed anyone let me know. You guys are awesome and I love you. So so so much. Also HUGE SHOUTOUT to everyone who has read/alerted/subscribed/favorited you guys make me weak in the knees!_

_And I've got to do this because I love Inception and I love Sherlock and the two of them are so completely awesome but together, they are awesome'er. You guys need to check out actressen fic Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Sleepwalkers. And it has Arthur/Ari. GUYS ARTHUR/ARI. Okay, that is it that is all. _

_Seriously though, you guys are amazing. You really know how make a girl feel loved especially when I'm feeling as shitty as I am today. God I hate the cold. And being sick. I'm such a baby. _

_Thanks again and much love!_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer**__: I own nothing. Boo-hoo right? If I did, Sherlock/Molly would be canon. Like hardcore canon. _

_**Pairing**__: Sherlock/Molly, (past)Molly/OC, John/Mary_

_**Summary**__: Three years after the Fall and everything is back to normal. Until it isn't. Molly Hooper's past decides to rear its ugly head and she's going to need all the help she can get to stop the man who wants her dead. _

_**Authors Note at the bottom along with shoutouts! Love you all. You're amazing. I apologize for any mistakes!**_

* * *

_Free Falling into the Unknown_

_Chapter 5_

* * *

Nate runs, feet pounding against the pavement. He dodges people, sometimes pushing right through them. He doesn't care. He needs to get to _Molly_. He needs to make sure Molly is okay. And _oh God, what has he done_? What has he _allowed_ to happen? He can hear Glenn running behind him. He doesn't know where Sherlock and John are, doesn't particularly care because all he can focus on is Molly. _Molly_. Jesus Christ, he's such a _fucking idiot_.

Was the phone call even genuine or was it all an elaborate scheme on O'Doyle's part? He wouldn't put it past the bastard.

His heart is clenches and he feels winded and he knows it has nothing to do with the fact that he's running around, what seems to be, all of London.

He makes it to her flat the same time Sherlock and John tumble out of a cab (Christ, how does that work out?), Glenn is close behind them and Nate doesn't hesitate before shouldering the front door open (he'll pay for the repairs later) and bounds up the stairs, the Consulting Detective hot on his heels.

The door to Molly's flat is open and he's not surprised to see three familiar dead bodies in the living room.

There's been a struggle. This much is evident from the broken vase, the cracked chairs, the overturned table. Molly fought back, or tried to anyways. He can't breathe. His heart feels like its going to burst and there is a tightening in his chest and a sudden stinging in his eyes. _Molly_, he screams silently, _oh Molly, I'm so so sorry_.

Sherlock comes storming in not even seconds later and stands stock still as he examines every corner of the room.

There is a sudden pain erupting in his side and he doesn't have to be a high-functioning sociopath or even a fucking doctor to know he's pulled his stitches. That's okay. He welcomes the pain. It's the least he deserves.

He also deserves the punch that Sherlock Holmes slams against his cheek.

* * *

He's still bleeding from his reopened stitches but that doesn't stop Sherlock from slamming him against the wall. Dead bodies and psychopaths hell-bent on revenge be damned, there is apparently nothing fiercer than Sherlock Holmes absolutely fucking _livid_.

"You were _supposed_ to _watch_ her!" He growls. It's deep and bounces off every corner of the room. "I _told_ you she would be safer with _me_. I could have protected her from him."

Nate grins and he can taste the metallic copper of his blood in his mouth (when did Sherlock punch him in the mouth?), "but who would have protected _her_ from_ you_?"

Sherlock narrows his eyes and snarls. "She doesn't need protecting from me!"

"She loves you." Nate admits and _oh_, his heart clenches and squeezes, "and you kill her every time you're near her. _I've_ been protecting her."

"No." Sherlock counters, his voice low, baritone and dangerous. "No. You have not been protecting her. You were supposed to be watching her and now she's _gone_."

"We hadn't heard nor seen tail or hide of 'im." Glenn interrupts, his voice wheezing from the run but Nate can hear the grief in his voice. "We didn't…oh shite. Molly." His eyes meet Nate's and Nate knows what he's thinking, if O'Doyle finally has hold of Molly, God only knows what he's doing to her. "The messages. It was all him. Nate, why did Molly…"

"She got a phone call. Had to come back for a report. I'm guessing it was probably part of O'Doyle's plan."

Sherlock scrunches up his face and he takes a deep breath, he lets Nate go, pointing to the chair and walking around. "He was sitting here. Waiting. This man," he says pointing to the dead man closest to the chair, "was shot first." The he points to the two. "Those two next. He used a silencer or else there would be police crawling all over here. They talked and then Molly threw the vase. O'Doyle…was expecting that and he fought her. He won." He says it with such clinical precision. As if this were some_ stranger's_ flat and not _Molly's._ "If he has her and everything I've gathered is true about him…" He trails off and looks at Nate. He walks closer to him, determined and Nate can see the steely glint in his eyes. "If anything happens to her," He says this to Nate quietly, ensuring that no one else hears him, "I don't care _who_ you are. I don't care how much _Molly loves you_. I will _kill _you." He echoes the same words Nate said to him a week ago. _Oh, how the tables have turned._

(That's fine, Nate concedes. If anything happens to Molly, he'll let him.)

* * *

She's in shock when she sees the first man go down and she practically screams when the other two go down not even a moment later. Then her eyes fly to the man who is sitting on her chair calmly. He has a small smile on his face, as if he didn't just kill three men in cold blood.

Oh, she should have fucking _known_.

"Molly Hooper." He says quietly, his voice raspy and still completely and utterly Irish. "I've not forgotten about you."

"I really wished you had." She says suddenly, her voice wavering.

"I'm sure you did. Your da…well, your da is probably turning `round in his grave. And your guard dogs…nowhere in sight. Alone and ripe for the picking. I'd expected it ta be a _bit_ harder, ya'see. But it's not and well…beggars can't be choosers and such." Then he grins widely, his teeth white, "how'd you like my nephew? I'd been keepin' eyes on ya. Known all about ya for years, biding my time. Jimmy. Oh _Jimmy_ was just perfect. Led him right to you, but that boy, not right in the head, too obsessed with your Detective fellow. But me…oh _darlin'_, I'm here just for _you_."

"I see prison hasn't changed you one bit." Her voice is still wavering but if she can just slide a few inches to the left and pick up the vase…maybe, just _maybe_, she can have a chance. Of course, now would be the time she decides to develop a backbone, after witnessing three men being shot in the head and coming face-to-face with the man who has literally haunted her life.

His grin falters just a little bit and he looks outside her window. Her blinds are closed (even though she knows she left them open earlier) and shifts to the left, her hand enclosing around the vase and eyes never leaving his face. "Oh. Prison has taught me a lot. And I can't wait to show you what I've learned."

The words make her blood run cold. Then she throws the vase at him. He dodges it, laughs manically and then_ lunges_ at her.

There's a fight and Molly kicks and punches and tries to scream but his hand is clasping her mouth. There's pushing and pulling and there's cracking of furniture and an overturned table and then she feels something prick in her neck and the blackness is almost a welcome relief.

"Bhfuil tú mianach anois." He whispers against the shell of her ear.

Molly's retained enough of the language to know what he says. _You're mine now_.

(She wishes she could hug Glenn one last time. She wishes that she could look at Nate and whisper _forever and always_ one last time. She wishes she could tell Sherlock that she loves him. That she's loved him for _so long._ She won't be able to do any of that now. So, instead, she settles for _I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. Please forgive me. Please, never forget me_.)

* * *

It's been seven long hours and its well into the night. Sherlock hasn't eaten or slept in…well…he doesn't know how long. He's sitting on his couch in 221b staring at the photos that have been tacked against the wall. The entire history of Donn O'Doyle is plastered on his wall. _Molly Hooper's_ entire history is tacked against_ his_ _wall_.

He closes his eyes. _Molly. Molly Hooper_.

He remembers the first day he met her. Of course he does. He deletes a lot of things but he comes to find that he doesn't delete much about Molly Hooper. She had been fresh out of medical school (quite literally) when he stormed into the morgue ready to lash out at the pathologist he used to work with. (He didn't actually work with him. The pathologist was a cantankerous old man who preferred fighting with Sherlock rather than let him do what he needed.)

He had just come off a two week case that was not nearly as interesting as it was made out to be but definitely more challenging that he originally thought, when he storms into the morgue demanding body parts. He comes to a full stop when he sees a petite young woman, with wide brown eyes and with brown hair it almost looks auburn. She has three freckles on her right ear and Sherlock is overcome with wanting to know if she has freckles anywhere else. He pushes the notion aside, chalks it up to lack of food and sleep. "You're new."

"Doctor Simpson retired." She told him, her voice soft; she tilts her head as if studying him. "I assume you're Sherlock Holmes. I think you're the reason he retired."

"Finally." He sweeps across the morgue and looks down at her. She's so tiny. So small. So…breakable. He studies her, can tell that she's recently lost someone, can tell that she's recently had to say goodbye to someone else (later, he'll find out it's never goodbye but _always and forever_), can tell that she's just graduated top of her class, can tell that she doesn't really care for her appearance. He can tell a lot about her (but never what counts.) "Mike has informed you of me, then, Molly Hooper?" He spies her name on her ID Card.

She startles. "How did you know?" He rolls his eyes and gestures to her Card. She blushes and giggles. "Yes. He's let me know of you and your requests. Have at it then."

(Throughout the years, she'll change around him. She'll stutter and stumble and he'll make her cry and break her more times than he should. He'll know why but he won't ever admit it. The only time she shows him who she used to be is when he asks her to kill him and she doesn't hesitate to say _yes_. She'll _always_ say _yes_ to him.)

"I shouldn't have left her." Nate tells him. He's leaning against the wall, hand on his hand from where John has re-stitched him and Sherlock can see him studying a picture of Molly. It was taken when she was younger, eighteen and just moved back to London. She's a bit more tan in the photo, her father in the background and Nate's arm wrapped around her waist. She's looking up at him with wonderment and amazement and Sherlock's fists clench.

"No, you shouldn't have." Sherlock responds. He won't spare this man. This _is_ his fault. Sherlock would never have left her. "For a man who proclaims to love her, you're very calm about allowing her to walk into her death." His face is still black and blue from where Sherlock punched him multiple times (he was angry, _so angry_ and it felt so good to finally hit the American.)

Nate's eyes flash. "I would give _anything_ to be in her place. I will do _anything_ to make sure that she's safe."

_Well,_ Sherlock thinks, _that makes the two of us_.

"You know," Nate says, his voice tight, "for a man who proclaims to not love anything, you seem very protective of Molly."

Of course he is. She_ saved_ him. She literally saved him and she_ continued_ to save him. She let him sleep in her bed and she made him _feel _things. It took all his restraint every night he laid beside her to not pull her into his arms and cover her body with his. He's spent too many nights imagining what she would look like, head tipped back, hair spread out, legs wrapped tightly around his waist and desperate pleas, to higher powers he doesn't believe in but would welcome with open arms if meant seeing her come undone and coming undone _with_ her, falling from her lips.

"She is…a friend." He says the word carefully.

Nate snorts and them winces. "Molly is never just a friend and you need to admit that despite this whole…whatever the fuck _persona_ you've got going on, you're _human_ and you care for her more than you're willing to admit. _She loves you_."

He knows that. He's known that for a while. It's why he used her the way he did. Keeping her close, making sure she would never leave him. It's been a messy cycle of taking and giving, mostly taking from his part. All he ever does is take; it's what he knows to do.

He doesn't know how to be in a relationship. He doesn't know how to act when someone depends on him. He knows the basis of relationships, that whatever one person does it somehow intrinsically affects the other person. Moriarty already used John and Molly (although, Sherlock knows that O'Doyle pushed him to it). How many others will use her if he decides to pursue anything? Relationships are a weakness. He's seen first-hand what relationships and depending on someone other than yourself can do to a person and Sherlock Holmes will _not_ be brought to his knees because of a _woman_.

But Molly Hooper isn't just a woman, she's…_Molly Hooper_. His Pathologist. _His_.

Nate's laptop rings and Sherlock frowns. Nate peeks at it and his body tenses. "Skype." He accepts and Sherlock feels his fist clench as he sees the man on screen. So, _this_ is O'Doyle. He's seen pictures but somehow the man on the screen seems much more, calmer than Sherlock would have expected.

He's a middle-aged man with graying black hair. His eyes are a piercing green and he can see the telltale signs of wrinkles. He's tall and lean and has, what Sherlock would suppose, a friendly enough face. He sees in his peripheral vision John and Glenn come into the room.

"Ah, Nate and you must be Sherlock Holmes." His accent is Irish, although years away from Ireland have made it lighter than it should be. He grins and Sherlock is reminded of Moriarty. They share the same maniacal smile. As if they know a secret that they aren't telling. "And where's Glenn?" Glenn comes around and glares at the screen. "Ah, Glenn boy-o, was saddened to `ear your dear sweet ma swallowed a bullet after the two of you moved."

Glenn snarls, "you fucking bastard. When I get my hands on you-"

"Tsk-tsk. False promises. Besides boys, I've got someone you wanna see." He looks off screen and there is the shifting of the laptop, "Molly love, say `ello."

Sherlock's heart plummets and he closes his eyes, hoping that when he opens she'll be fine. She's not. She's still tied to the chair. She's still bruised and bleeding and_ broken_. _Oh Molly_. He studies the background and takes note of everything.

Nate curses, Glenn lets out a roar and John looks to the ceiling.

"Someone must'a taught `er well. Hardly made a peep she did. Although, I certainly haven't even tried my best yet." Sherlock can hear a whimper escape Molly's gagged mouth. O'Doyle's eyes soften and he turns the screen back to him. "You lot did the best you could. She's a pretty little thing. I'll be sure ta send her pieces back ta you. I never forget my debts ya know." Then he shakes his head and gives them one last smile. "Brìgh gach cluiche gu dheireadh. Conas mar gheall ar tús a chur againn ag an tús?" The screen goes black.

Nate is frantic. "What he'd say? _What the fuck did he say_?"

Glenn takes a deep breath. "_The essence of a game is at its end. How about we start at the beginning_?"

"What the _fuck_ does that even mean?"

It's easy to figure out. Donn O'Doyle is a psychotic terrorist but he's a _man_. He's _human_ and like all humans, he's _sentimental_. "He's going back to where it all started." He turns around and faces the wall, eyes skimming the pictures for one in particular. "A-ha!" He snaps the picture off the wall and shows it to them. "A few decades older and abandoned but the wallpaper is the same. He's at Molly's old house in Belfast. _Back at the beginning_. He wants to finish it where it was _supposed _to be finished." He whips out his phone and dials a familiar number. "Mycroft, I need a plane into Belfast. Quickly."

He doesn't say anything, he just leaves and he can hear the fumbling of three men as they clamber after him.

_She's going to be all right. She's going to be fine_.

(He can't bear to think of any other situation.)

* * *

Hundreds of miles away, in Belfast, Ireland, tied to a dusty chair, in her old home where she watched her mother be tortured to death and her father shoot people, is Molly Hooper.

She tries to be strong, like she remembers her mother was.

She fails. Miserably.

* * *

_It's almost at an end. Seriously, so close. Two more chapters and then this puppy is done. Have I mentioned that you guys are awesome. So so awesome. I love you all. Also, Nate and Sherlock would not cooperate…but Sherlock's hit him. Lost his nerve and punched Nate in the face. And Nate took it. Like a man. Lol. Poor Nate and for the record, poor Sherlock and Molly. I think I like putting them through the ringer, haha._

_GUYS. I'VE FOUND MOLLY/SHERLOCK ON YOUTUBE. I'M ADDICTED. All the videos I've been watching are so amazing and OH MY GOD WHY DIDN'T I FIND THIS SOONER? Obviously, because I'm an idiot. _

_**HUGE SHOUTOUT TO MY REVIEWERS**__:__** CreamCrop, susieqsis, Guest, Anasthesia93, goanago, personofnoconcern3000 **__and __**daisherz365**__. If I've forgotten anyone, I apologize greatly! __**HUGE SHOUTOUT **__to everyone who has favorited/alerted/followed everything. You guys are awesome and I love you so so much. _

_Also the translation is from Google Translate, which probably means I got some if not all of it, wrong. I apologize to anyone if I offend you, it's not my intention at all. _

_Thanks again and much love!_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer**__: I own nothing. Boo-hoo right? If I did, Sherlock/Molly would be canon. Like hardcore canon. _

_**Pairing**__: Sherlock/Molly, (past)Molly/OC, John/Mary_

_**Summary**__: Three years after the Fall and everything is back to normal. Until it isn't. Molly Hooper's past decides to rear its ugly head and she's going to need all the help she can get to stop the man who wants her dead. _

_**Authors Note at the bottom along with shoutouts! Love you all. You're amazing. I apologize for any mistakes!**_

* * *

_Free Falling into the Unknown_

_Chapter 6_

* * *

She's knows the moment she hears him talking that they'll figure out where she is. They'll save her. She knows it but that doesn't stop the dread from building in her stomach. Belfast is_ hundreds_ of miles away and even if they took the next plane or a private plane, who's to say what will happen to her during that time?

She tries to suck in a deep breath and watches with wide eyes as O'Doyle shuts the top of the laptop and walks towards her. He's been using his hands, hitting and punching and he's broken two fingers on her left hand. She watches him as he grabs something and places it on the table next to her. She watches as he opens it and she closes her eyes. There are instruments there. Knives. Scalpels. Things that she's only seen in her lab and horror movies and crime shows that she refuses to watch anymore.

He picks up the scalpel and holds it in his hand. "Your familiar with this one, yeah? Let's see how you like it."

He's a master in torture and he does everything to make her scream.

(He succeeds and Molly can feel herself dying bit by bit.)

* * *

Glenn will never admit it to Nate or Molly (or anyone for that matter) but he had a crush on Molly years ago. It was fleeting and when they first met. She was shy and he found that such a contrast from the types of girls he's used to that he couldn't help but develop a crush on her.

Then the crush went away when he got to know her. She's his sister in every sense but blood. They bonded over plenty of things, most commonly, the joy of pissing Nate off, but Glenn saw the way his best friend looked at her, saw the love that clearly shone through his eyes.

(He saw the heartbreak when Nate told him in an even detached tone that she'd met someone. "His name is Sherlock Holmes." "That doesn't have to mean anything. Molly meets a ton of men." "He's different, Glenn. I know it. I'm…I'm losing her." It's the first time he remembers thinking he hates Molly but definitely not the last time that he remembers thinking he hates Sherlock Holmes.)

In a sense, Glenn and Molly are one-in-the-same. They've both had their lives ripped apart by Donn O'Doyle. Except Glenn is still alive and he doesn't know how much more time Molly has.

(_Please Molly_, he begs, _please stay alive. Please be all right_.)

Glenn used to have a fleeting crush on her. She's his sister in every sense of the word but blood.

(Blood never meant anything to him. He chose his family.)

* * *

"Your da died of cancer, yeah? Was quite sad to `ear about it. Blew all my plans out the window, that did. But then…there's you. Little Molly. The one who got away and darlin', I've never forgotten `bout you."

Not for the first time, she wishes that he _had_ forgotten about her. Forgotten about the girl who was tied to the fucking chair and watched him torture her mother. The human body can only handle so much and Molly knows that she's nearing the end of her threshold.

She lets out a gasp and tears sting her eyes when she feels him stab her. He doesn't hit anything vital and she knows that it's the same place he stabbed Nate one week ago. _We'll have matching scars now_, she thinks.

"You're much stronger than I thought you'd be." He says against her ear. He's holding her head against his chest. Cradling it like her father used to do whenever she felt sad. She feels sick to her stomach. "You're mother was strong too. You're like her but a bit different. More reserved in your strength."

She feels her heart swell for a moment. Maybe she can be strong like her mother.

Then he stabs her other side and she cries out.

* * *

Molly Hooper reminds John Watson of the-girl-next-door. She's _that_ type of girl. The one who is underneath your very nose and you don't notice it until its too late and she's gone. Either to a different school or with a different man.

But _never_ this. _Never_ held captive by a man who has had _decades_ to plan his every move.

Contrary to popular belief, John was never angry with Molly when he found out her role in Sherlock's fake death. He knew that she had no choice. He knew that she would never deny Sherlock everything and well…she saved his best friend's life so, by default, he can't be angry about that. _Ever._

They're on the plane headed to Belfast and John can't help but glance at Sherlock.

John may not be a genius but he knows that Sherlock cares for Molly. He cared about her _before_ the Fall, something he picked up on but Sherlock never did. Molly wished for it, but she never paid close attention, but_ John_ did. _John_ saw the way Sherlock would shuffle closer to Molly whenever she was near._ John_ would see Sherlock's eyes lingering on her retreating form after he would say something awful to her. _John_ saw the way Sherlock's eyes would narrow and the way he would fume silently whenever Nate touched her.

_John saw it all_.

Sherlock never did. Molly only ever hoped for it.

(She's going to make it through this, because the moment she's better, he's locking both of them in a closet and not letting them out until they've settled everything unspoken between them. He has a feeling they'll be in there for days, but John Watson is a patient man.)

* * *

She's drowning. Literally. He's kicked her chair over and she's pretty sure that she's broken a wrist and dislocated her right shoulder, but he's holding a cloth to her face and _drowning _her.

She feels dizzy and she almost begs for him to just finish her off already. She can't take much more of this and God, it hurts so much. She just wants it to end. She wants it all to end. She's not as strong as her mother was. She's not as strong as her father was. She's not as strong as Nate and Glenn taught her to be. She's just Molly. _Plain. Mousy. Molly_.

Her hand tries to find purchase against the floor when her fingertips come across something sharp. She almost yelps._ Almost_. She feels for the handle and she almost laughs. _Almost_. It's the scalpel. The scalpel he dropped when he kicked her chair back and he never even noticed. The scalpel is sharp. The scalpel can cut through anything. Even rope.

(There's a sudden light at the end of this dark tunnel and she doesn't know where it's going to take but _fuck it all_, she's going to follow it.)

* * *

Sherlock Holmes doesn't do feelings. He doesn't do sentiment like other people do. He's not like other people.

That doesn't mean he doesn't care though.

He does. He cares a little _too_ much sometimes.

He jumped off the roof of Bart's to protect the only people who mattered to him. He slept in the same bed as Molly Hooper. She was the one he chose to come to every time he needed medical attention. None of the other doctors that his brother had on-call for him. He went to Molly. He finds that he'll always go to Molly.

He wishes he could delete her. Life would be so much easier if he could, but he can't. It's not like he hasn't tried but every time he goes to delete her, he hesitates. He remembers all the coffees and the small smiles and the blushes and the stammering and how protective she is of him._ Him_. The man who has single-handedly made her miserable and she still protects him. Still defends him. So, he doesn't delete her.

(He'll never delete her.)

He's not going to promise to be a better man. He can't be a better man, this is who he is. This is _how_ he is and Molly…Molly understands that. More than that though, she loves him for the way he is. She accepts him fully and without question.

He doesn't know many people who are able to do that (sometimes John can't even do that). So, no, he's not going to promise to be a better man, but he promises to be _something_…and that's got to count to for something.

(Molly will survive. Molly will look at him as she's always looked at him and everything will be all right. Because Sherlock Holmes has deleted a lot but he's never deleted Molly Hooper…and that has to count for _something._)

* * *

It doesn't take long for Molly to cut through the rope tied around her hands and O'Doyle doesn't even notice, he's too busy with making sure she's suffering. She's positive that she's cut her wrists a couple of times and she feels woozy from the blood loss but_ damn it_, Molly Hooper is not going down _without_ a fight.

When he finally pulls her chair upright, he frowns and looks at her bloodied hands. "You little bitc-" He lets out a grunt when Molly takes the scalpel and jabs him in the shoulder (she was _aiming_ for the heart but she's _so_ dizzy) and pushes him with all her strength. Not expecting it, he tumbles backwards and hits the floor. She hurriedly unties the rope around her feet, somewhat clumsily but O'Doyle is growling with pain and it gives her a few precious moments of trying to get the _fuck out of here_.

She stands on wobbly legs and tries to make it to the door. A hand clasps around her ankle and yanks her to the floor. She hits it hard and her entire body explodes with pain. She kicks and tries to punch, ignoring the cracking of her wrist and the burning sensation of her shoulder. She needs to grab something else, anything else and there-she spots it on the table. A gun. His gun. She slams her forehead against his nose and Molly gets up and snatches the gun off the table.

She shoots and doesn't stop until she feels the familiar click of the gun telling her that she's shot every single last_ fucking_ bullet.

She sinks to the floor in relief.

And then she starts sobbing.

* * *

They made a promise to each other long ago, when they realized that they couldn't live without one another and they most certainly wouldn't die without one another. It's after their first time and the sun is still shining brightly through his window. Molly is on her side, curled into him, fingers tracing words onto his chest. "What are you doing?" He asks.

"Writing _always and forever_, _surpassing even eternity_, on your chest, so you never forget me."

She hates goodbyes so Nate will never say goodbye to her. "Of course I'll never forget you. What a stupid thing to think." He kisses the top of her head. "You…feeling okay?"

She smiles softly. "Feeling great." The she frowns and looks up at him. "You won't die, will you?"

"Um…Molly, everyone dies."

She rolls her eyes, "that's not what I mean. You won't die without me. If we're_ always and forever_ then that technically means we die together. So, you die, I die. Morbid really when you come to think about it but-oof!" She's silenced when he kisses her and she grins into the kiss.

"You die, I die." He mutters against her lips before claiming them again.

(Yeah, they're morbid but that's okay.)

The plane has landed nearly a half-hour ago and it doesn't take long for them to pull into the driveway of the house. Nate doesn't even wait for the car to stop; he opens the door and jumps out of it, racing towards the house. He can hear the rest of them behind him and it doesn't surprise him that Sherlock is next to him (the man has long legs). He kicks the door open and almost gags at the smell. (Blood and urine is never a pleasant smell.)

And then he sees her. Gun beside her and her entire body trembling. She's pale. She's _so_ very pale and she looks at them, eyes wide.

John pushes through, his doctor mode taking over and he orders them to give her room. "Call an ambulance. For Christ sakes, she needs help!" He holds her face. "Molly? Molly? Can you hear me? Molly, I need you to look at me. She's lost too much blood. I think she's going into shock."

"Fix her." Sherlock snaps.

"I can't!" John explodes. "I need a hospital."

Nate drops to his knees and takes her trembling body into his. "Mo. Mo. I'm here."

"He…he's…de…ad." She stutters.

"Yeah." There are tears building in his eyes and _oh God_, he's going to _lose_ it. He's going to _fucking lose it_. "You did good." His voice breaks and she sags against him. "Come on, Mo. You've got to…you've got to stay awake."

"Tired."

"Mo." He takes in a deep breath. "You die, I die. Remember?"

She manages a small sad smile and he can hear the sirens getting closer. "Always and forever."

"Surpassing even eternity."

She turns her head and looks at Sherlock, stares at him for a second and then lets her eyes drift close. Her body goes limp.

Glenn rages. John shuts his eyes. Nate gathers her body closer to him.

And Sherlock? Sherlock drops to his knees and picks up a limp hand. "Molly." He says, his voice strong but Nate can hear the breaking. Nate can hear the despair, the _pleading_. "Molly Hooper don't you dare do this."

Molly doesn't answer.

(The house explodes in a frenzy not even seconds later when paramedics and doctors and police officers come hurrying in. They take Molly away from him. From them. He's failed in protecting her. He'll never forgive himself. _Never_.)

* * *

Sherlock Holmes doesn't do feelings. He doesn't do sentiment like other people do. He's not like other people.

But seeing Molly Hooper so pale and lifeless does _things_ to him.

It makes him_ feel_ things.

He feels his heart clench and explode and there is a flurry of emotions and he feels like he's going to vomit.

"Molly." He's down on his knees and he's pleading with her. He's _pleading with Molly Hooper_ of all people. "Molly Hooper, don't you dare do this." _Not to me. Please, Molly. Not to me. I can't…I can't. _

(She doesn't answer him. Molly always answers him.)

* * *

_So, this is what it feels like to kill someone_, she thinks. She feels remorse for a moment until she remembers whom she kills and then she doesn't feel anything at all.

She barely registers Nate but she knows her body is shutting down. She's dying. She should be in hysterics. She wants to be. She wants to fight and plead because _no_._ No. It's too soon_. She hasn't…there's so much she hasn't done yet.

But she's tired. She's so very fucking tired and all she wants to do is sleep.

When she looks up and sees Sherlock, however blurry he is, she thinks that this should be enough. She's seen him one last time and maybe she'll never get the chance to be anything more, but at least she was something for some time. That has to count, right?

So, she gives in to her urges, and she closes her eyes.

(The darkness is a welcome relief. She doesn't feel pain. Not anymore.)

* * *

_What a dark and twisted chapter. DON'T WORRY! I know what it looks like but come on, have a little faith in me, yeah? Next chappie is the last. I know. I'm really sad. Also, can we get a little hooray for kick-ass Molly Hooper? Hells to the yeah. She saved her own self. Who needs knights in shining armor when you've got Molly Hooper?_

**HUGE SHOUTOUT TO MY REVIEWERS**_: __**Rocking the Redhead, CreamCrop, Weeping-Lightning, varjaks, Guest, Ailecec, coloradoandcolorado1, susieqsis, Guest, magicstrikes, Diana Holland **__and __**avatardsherlockian**__. If I missed anyone I apologize! Also, _**HUGE SHOUTOUT**_ to those who have read/favorited/alerted you guys are AWESOME. ALL OF YOU AWESOME!_

_Thanks again and much love! _


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer**__: I own nothing. Boo-hoo right? If I did, Sherlock/Molly would be canon. Like hardcore canon. _

_**Pairing**__: Sherlock/Molly, (past)Molly/OC, John/Mary_

_**Summary**__: Three years after the Fall and everything is back to normal. Until it isn't. Molly Hooper's past decides to rear its ugly head and she's going to need all the help she can get to stop the man who wants her dead. _

_**Authors Note at the bottom along with shoutouts! Love you all. You're amazing. I apologize for any mistakes! This is it buds, end of the road. I'm weeping. Seriously.**_

* * *

_Free Falling into the Unknown_

_Chapter 7_

* * *

She's in and out of consciousness. She can hear yelling and orders are being thrown around and she wishes she could say something…_anything_. But she can't. She can vaguely hear her name being called and someone telling her to _hold on_ and _everything is going to be all right._

She's not entirely sure that's true. Her body hurts and she feels so weak.

Everything is blurry to her. She feels like her ears are plugged, she can barely make out any noise.

She feels someone grasp her hand and long fingers intertwine with hers. "I need you to be strong Molly." The deep baritone voice sends shivers down her spine. She blinks and all she can see are a pair of bright blue eyes. "I need you to come back. Promise me." He says the last two words quietly, as if almost ashamed to be saying them.

_Sherlock_, she thinks, _I promise. I promise_.

Then his hand is ripped from hers and she's wheeled into another room and all she can hear is yelling and orders and the sudden shrill beep of a monitor before everything turns black again.

* * *

When Molly wakes up, her throat is dry, as if she's swallowed a dozen cotton balls. The lights hurt her head and her body is coming alive with pain.

_Oh_. She's in pain. _Why is she here again?_

O'Doyle. She killed O'Doyle and he did his best to kill her. But he didn't.

Which explains the pain. She's alive. And _oh God_, she'll take the pain. She'll take everything because she's_ alive_.

She looks to her left and sees Nate on the edge of his chair staring at her. He brings a cup of water and lets her drink from the straw. "Hey Sleeping Beauty." He teases her quietly.

She smiles and grimaces. "Hi." She croaks. "You guys came."

"Always."

"I knew you would."

"You kicked ass without us." He moves from his chair and takes the empty spot on her bed. "Do me a favor? _Never _do that me again."

She lets out a laugh and then quickly regrets it. She looks around the hospital room and recognizes it as Bart's. She frowns and Nate nods. "They patched you up in Belfast." He explains "and as soon as you were cleared, Mycroft had you brought back to Bart's because Sherlock was having a hissy fit. Which, by the way, I have to ask, what is it _exactly_ that Mycroft Holmes does?"

She shrugs and the pain radiates from her shoulder. "What are my injuries?"

"Two stab wounds, missed everything vital. Dislocated shoulder, broken wrist, you have two fractured ribs, various scars along your body and somehow you cut your wrists. I assume it was from where you used a _scalpel_ to try and cut through the ropes. You lost a lot of blood, Molly. You died on us _twice_."

"How long ago?"

"Four days."

She's been asleep for four days. She tries to suck in a deep breath and almost cries from the pain. _Good God_, she's going to be feeling this for a while. But she can't find it in her to care because she's_ alive_. She glances around the room, spotting the flowers and teddy bears and cards but not the person she's looking for.

Nate grabs her hand; she turns her head to look at him. "Today was the first day he left your side. Something about a case that Detective Inspector Lestrade needs help with. He bitched the entire way out though."

_So, he was here. He probably feels guilty_. Yes, that's it. He feels guilty about what happened to her. That's all. She _imagined_ him pleading with her to be strong. It was because of the drugs she imagined him holding her hand. She would cry if she knew she wouldn't further damage herself.

"Molly." Nate says, his voice snapping her out of her daze. "When he found out that O'Doyle had you…he beat the shit out of me. He threatened to kill me. When he saw you…Molly, I was there, I _saw_ his face. I saw how twisted up and fucking miserable he was. He wouldn't let anyone but the best doctors touch you and we nearly had to pry him off of you. He's…a weird one, I mean you sure know how to pick them, but…he's _genuine_, I guess is the word I'm looking for. Don't doubt yourself and don't doubt him."

"You're giving your permission?" Molly knows that Nate hates Sherlock. Absolutely _loathes_ him actually.

He smiles sadly. "Guess I couldn't keep you forever. He'll be able to protect you. He'll probably still make you cry and we'll never get along, I mean, the Holidays will be a nightmare and you bet that Glenn isn't going to make it any easier on him, but yeah…if letting you go means that you're with someone you love. It's a small price to pay."

"I love you." Molly tells him. And she does, _oh God she does_. He was her first everything. His place is cemented in her heart, his place is _always and forever_ with her.

He kisses her cheek and leans his forehead against hers. "You love him just a little bit more. And as much as I don't want to say it and I will vehemently deny it if anyone asks, he's an_ okay_ guy when he's not being a complete and fucking _douche bag_."

Molly knew that this day would come. She isn't surprised by how much it bloody hurts. "Nate-"

"I'm going off the grid."

_Déjà vu much?_ "How much off the grid?"

"Pretty off. Glenn and I got our orders last night. We're on next flight out. We won't…we won't be able to see you for a while but _I'll_ try to contact you, okay? Be careful and make sure not to exert yourself." He kisses her softly on the lips one last time and stands up. He grabs his bag from the side of her bed and slings it over his shoulder. "I love you Molly Hooper."

"Nate." She calls out softly as he makes his way to the door. He pauses and looks back at her and suddenly she doesn't know what to say. So, she says the only thing she knows to say. "Always and forever."

He smiles so brightly and Molly is taken back to every single memory the two of them have ever shared. "Surpassing even eternity."

And then he's gone.

* * *

She doesn't remember falling asleep but when she wakes up it's dark out and the hospital is quiet. The moon illuminates the room and she lets out a sigh. Nate's gone. There is a hole in her chest that she's only experienced twice. Once when her mother died and once when her father died.

She looks to her side and she's shocked to see two bright blue eyes staring back her. She jumps, just a little bit. "Sherlock." She hisses. "Jesus, you scared me."

"I apologize. That was not my intention." He says quietly.

"How was the case?" At his quizzical glance, she explains, "Nate told me."

He rolls his eyes. "Barely a six." There's a pause and he opens and closes his mouth. For once, he seems to be at a loss for words. She would giggle if she had the energy. "How…are…you?" He sounds so awkward asking after her health.

"I'm getting there." She's silent and then she shakes her head. "At the hospital…you held my hand. I felt you. I _saw_ you."

"I apolo-"

"Don't." She cuts him off. "Please don't apologize. I couldn't…I couldn't take it if you did. I liked it, you know. You. Holding my hand. It…felt…right."

He doesn't say anything but Molly knows that with Sherlock, actions always speak louder. Which is why she lets a few tears slip when he gently picks up her hand and threads his long fingers through hers. He's staring intently at their clasped hands, cataloguing every shape and bone and the way she fits. She_ fits_. She, Molly Hooper, _fits_.

"You died on me, Molly." He says quietly, his head bowed and against their clasped hands, as if he's confessing something.

And he is. Not in the normal way but he's Sherlock Holmes and she's Molly Hooper and he's not normal and neither is she. But she knows what he's saying, what he's _trying_ to say.

(Things will never be easy with them. He'll say hurtful things and she'll cry. She'll probably snap a few times and he'll pout. He'll continue to ask for body parts and she'll always say yes to him (she won't ever hesitate) and she'll run her fingers through his hair because despite what he says, he likes physical intimacy. He'll keep her company in the morgue when she's all cleared to work and she'll worry about him when he's on cases. She won't doubt him when the Woman makes her reappearance, because she knows that _she's_ the one he comes back to. He won't get jealous every time Nate crawls through the window because he knows that Nate was the center of her world for so long and Molly is the epitome of sentiment.)

She knows she's in for a long and bumpy road ahead of her but looking at their clasped hands, she won't regret a single moment.

"So," she says, "where's John?"

He snorts. "Shagging that nurse he was chatting up a week ago. She's ready, by the way, to be in a relationship."

"Did you at least get her name?" She teases.

He rolls his eyes. "Mary something-or-other. I can't be bothered to care."

He leans back in his chair and tells Molly about the _barely a six_ case he was on and how big of an idiot Anderson truly can be and Molly nestles back into her pillow and listens to the sound of his voice until she falls asleep.

(When she wakes up the next morning to the blinding sunlight, Sherlock is still there. His head is tilted back and he's snoring ever so lightly. Their hands are still clasped.)

* * *

_I…think…I'm going to cry. Seriously. I'm going to cry. You know, I almost never posted this story up. I was so hesitant for so many reasons but I decided to take the plunge and I'm glad I did. You guys are amazing. This whole entire fandom is so amazing. Your words of unwavering support in this story mean so much to me. I love every single one of you. I really truly do. Also, I know. This is fluffy. But I figured after torturing these schmucks for so long, I may as well give them a bit of fluffiness. Because you know, they're my OTP that aren't even a pairing. God. I feel so strongly about the two of them. Who's with me?!_

_This being said. Yes. I do plan on writing more Sherlock/Molly. In fact, I've been hit by the smut bug (God, that sounds dirty.) I don't know how good it's going to be because it'll be the first time I write smut but Molly and Sherlock are sort of begging for it (God, that sounds even dirtier.) It won't have anything to do with this story though. The door is closing on this one. It makes me sad but words cannot describe how much I've had writing this and reading your guys' reviews. _

_Speaking of reviews, __**HUGE SHOUTOUT TO MY AWESOME REVIEWERS WHO I ABSOULTELY ADORE**__: __**magicstrikes, MorbidbyDefault, Rocking the Redhead, varjaks, CreamCrop, personofnoconcern3000, Nocturnias, Zora Arian, Meg-the-cat**__ and __**coloradoandcolorado1**__. If I missed anyone, I apologize greatly! __**HUGE THANKS**__ to everyone who has subscribed/alerted/read/favorited, you guys are awesome and make me so happy. _

_Honestly, thank you all so much!_

_Thanks again and much love! _


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